The Riding Hood Conundrum
by Iceworm
Summary: Stiles has a Wolf problem. Danny has a Jackson problem. Maybe they can help each other out.


A.N. I started this story not long after I finished The Nose Knows and Aftermath. So it has been sitting on my hard drive, unfinished, for four years. I recently reread the beginning and realized I'd like to finish it. So here it is. It's not the sequel I think people want but it's a stage that Stiles would have to pass through on his way to taking some kind of explicit action.

 **The Riding Hood Conundrum**

Danny Mahealani watches as the sun slowly slides behind the rooftops of Beacon's tallest towers. The buildings downtown are limned in shades of gold and red by the setting sun. His attention is distracted only briefly by the light show. His attention turns quickly back to dribbling his basketball down the familiar trail from his home to Green Forest Elementary. His thoughts seem to be far away but he navigates the path's irregularities and breaks effortlessly. He has traveled this path a million times over the years on his way to school, to enjoy the playground equipment when he was a kid and to use the basketball court as he grew up. On most of those trips he had been accompanied by his best friend, Jackson Whitemore. But not tonight. Tonight he is alone.

He knows that the playground's lights remain on for an hour after dusk. That will give him plenty of time to shoot some hoops before he has to return home and finish his homework. If he times things right he can also get in some time on his extra credit project. Right now, however, he needs some roundball therapy. Shooting baskets is just the mindless activity that he needs to relax and try for some perspective on the craziness that the new year at Beacon Hills High School has brought.

Danny considers turning around and going home when he sees that someone else is on the playground tonight. A solitary, gray hooded figure sits slumped on a slowly moving swing. The movement of the swing seems to be driven by the wind, not its occupant. But instead, Danny's grip tightens on the ball he carries. He stuffs it angrily under his arm and stalks down the remaining steps to the playground's gate intent on discovering who has invaded his privacy.

As he walks across the playground Danny wonders at the ability of the human mind to recognize a person merely by their silhouette or the way they hold themselves. For whatever the reason, he knows long before he can see his face that the despondent figure slowly moving to the vagaries of the wind is Stilinski.

It is not too late to avoid Stiles if he wishes. It will require only a slight detour to take him away from the swing set and out of easy voice range. Neither of the boys would need to acknowledge the others presence. The two of them are not such good friends that avoiding contact would be a gross insult. A casual nod or a wave if Stilinski even looks up would be sufficient to accomplish the necessary courtesies. Danny does not do this, however. He heads toward the swing set and Stiles. His curiosity has gotten the better of his good judgment.

Danny cringes mentally as he recalls what life at Green Forest had been like for Stiles and Scott. He cannot imagine why Stiles would want to come back here tonight or any other time. It cannot be the memories of his life at Green Forest that have brought Stiles back.

Scott and Stiles, living at the far edge of the Green Forest attendance zone, had been "bus kids." Their bus had always been the last to arrive each morning and the first to depart each afternoon. Because of this there had never been time for them to participate in any extracurricular sports or activities – to become part of the school. To further alienate and set them apart from their peers: Stiles was small and annoyingly precocious and Scott was chained by his asthma to his ever present inhaler. The two of them had had only each other and had clung together like two kids sharing one life preserver.

He had never participated in the hazing the two boys endured at Green Forest. At least, Danny cannot remember anything that he did. He supposes that his memory must be correct because neither Scott nor Stiles appear to bear him any animosity now that they are attending the same school again. Scott is so easygoing that Danny supposes that he might have just forgiven him any slights and accepted his friendly overtures when the two met up again on the lacrosse team at Beacon Hills.

Stiles, however, has an altogether different personality. He would neither have forgiven nor forgotten a slight to his best friend, Scott. Stiles can be scary that way. That Stiles is willing to be his friend now has to mean that Danny's memory of his actions have not been colored by wishful thinking. Even so, he is lucky that they are willing to be friends; because while _he_ never did anything to them, he had also done nothing to stop their tormentors. He had not intervened even when it had been his best friend, Jackson, who had been the perpetrator. If he is being honest with himself, it is guilt, as much as anything, that causes him to approach Stiles. Stiles seems so lost as he sits there all alone. Danny stops in front of Stilinski and waits to see if the boy will acknowledge him.

"Hey, Danny!" Stiles flips back the hood of his gray sweatshirt and stares owlishly at the unexpected sight of his teammate.

"Stiles?" Danny waits. He knows that Stilinski abhors silence and that he only needs to wait. Stiles will eventually give up the reason why he is sitting alone in this playground, miles from home.

"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here." Danny doesn't try to hide a smile as he nods. "I needed to do some thinking away from everyone."

A furtive expression flickers across Stilinski's face and he peers out into the gathering gloom. "What are you doing here, Danny? Anyone with you?"

Danny pulls the basketball out from under his arm and holds it out to Stiles.

"You came out to play basketball in the dark? By yourself? No, Jackson?" Stiles looks around again.

"No Jackson. Just me. Came down to shoot some hoops." He takes a half step and mimes going up for a jump shot. "It helps me think."

"Right, you and Jackson live just up the hill. But no Jackson?" He asks a third time.

Danny wonders why Stiles would show so much interest in Jackson's whereabouts. "Jackson, he's... busy tonight. He's been busy a lot lately." He offers thoughtfully. Stiles hears the hesitation and the unspoken concern that Danny feels for his friend in his voice. Stiles stares at the ground and thinks he probably has a better idea of what Jackson is busy with tonight than his best friend does.

Danny finishes. "Besides, Jackson and I, we aren't joined at the hip. We've each got our own lives. Not like some people."

For a moment, Stiles considers taking the bait Danny has offered but decides instead to ignore his implied criticism of his relationship with Scott. _We are not co-dependent,_ he thinks.

He explains patiently to Danny. "Me, if I'm active, my mind is active. Very active. Too active sometimes." The boy gives a little shrug. "Okay, too active _most_ of the time. You may have noticed I'm a little ADHD." Stiles observes the smile that spreads across Danny's face at this gross understatement but decides that Danny is smiling at his joke and not at Stiles himself. _He didn't actually laugh in my face, after all._ That is part of the ongoing riddle that is Danny Mahealani: how he can be such a fundamentally nice guy and still be best friends with Jackson "the asshole" Whitemore.

Stiles continues. "For serious problem solving I need quiet, solitude and a minimum of outside stimuli. That means getting away from the myriad distractions present in my room. I try to achieve enlightenment through a zen-like state." Stiles's attempt at seriousness is undercut by the sheepish smile that spreads across his face. "Yeah, I know."

He sighs. "At any rate, that's my goal. You probably have noticed that I don't succeed very often." A speculative look comes into Stilinski's eyes. "But for you it's hoops? Hmmmm. What deep thoughts bring you out to the playground of our youth, Danny?"

The boy standing in front of Stiles says nothing at first. He just shifts the basketball from hand to hand. Finally, in a rush, Danny says, "I'm worried about Jackson." Danny looks aghast that he has blurted this out to Stiles Stilinski, of all people, and so finishes with a threat. "I don't know why I said that. Forget what I said, Stilinski. If you tell Jackson I will make your life a living hell. Understand?" Stiles watches as Danny's normally good-natured expression twists into his goalie's face. The face that has intimidated the offensive line of opposing lacrosse teams for the last two years glowers at Stiles to no effect. Stiles knows that Danny's threat is a bluff. The guy is a pussy cat. Which, his ever alert mental censor is quick to reassure him, was not in any way a gay putdown.

Stilinski does, however, understand that Danny would not have resorted to such an uncharacteristic threat unless his teammate is deeply and genuinely concerned about Jackson's reaction to learning of Danny's concern. Stiles nods that he understands. But then, an expression of delighted amazement lights up his face.

Danny's forehead creases in puzzlement at Stilinski's reaction and he begins to edge away. His thought is that he had better make a strategic exit before whatever crazy idea has just hatched in that fevered thing Stiles calls a mind can uncoil and bite him in the butt.

"So, me, I'm just going to go over there and shoot some hoops and let you go on with your search for enlightenment."

Unfortunately, Danny cannot let Stilinski's preposterous statement go unremarked. Instead of running the other way, he observes with a mischievous smile, "I think you'd have better luck achieving enlightenment sitting under a banyan tree than on a swing set. But man, you go for it."

He has missed his chance to escape, however. Danny is caught by the sight of Stilinski swinging slowly in front of him. The boy's body seems to vibrate with barely contained excitement. Even though Danny knows that this excitement does not bode well for him, like a snake fascinated by the motion of a mongoose, he can neither look away nor flee.

"Boy!" Stiles explodes. "You know, I wondered what caused me to drive clear over here." He pushes off with his feet and the swing picks up speed. "And here you are, the answer to my prayers. The _perfect_ person to help me with my problem. It must be fate."

Danny takes another step back and his free hand comes up as though to ward off a blow. "Like I said, I've got my own problem. I didn't come out here to help you solve whatever bizarre 'Stiles' problem you may have. I am moving on now."

"Right. Danny, you've said that like three times already and still haven't left. I get it. But you help me with my problem and I'll help you with yours," he says eagerly. Because of the gloom of the winter evening, Danny's look of horror is invisible to Stiles.

"You're gay, after all. This should be easy," he says cheerfully. "A piece of cake for you."

Danny scoffs. "What does my being gay have to do with anything? And there is nothing easy about being a gay teenager."

Stiles ignores him and continues. "It's like this, Danny. There's this guy I know. He's like _not_ gay. _Definitely_ not gay." Stiles makes a chopping motion with his hand for emphasis. " _Totally_ into the ladies. One hundred percent straight."

"Okay, getting the picture. This unnamed guy, he is _totally_ straight." Stiles appears to be oblivious to the sarcasm in Danny's voice. "Do I know him?"

"What? No! You _definitely_ don't know him. He doesn't go to Beacon Hills." Danny smiles at the panic he hears in his friend's voice.

"Okay, got that. So, what's his problem?"

Stiles stares at his feet. "There's a guy _he_ knows…." Stilinski pauses, seeming to have run out of words.

"Yeah?" Danny prompts into the silence.

"He likes him."

Danny walks slowly over and plops himself down on the swing beside Stiles. Setting the ball on the ground, he wraps his arms around the chains of the swing. He has an idea where this is going. Maybe Stiles's problem will be more interesting than he had thought. He pushes himself off. As he passes Stiles he turns to look at him and says, "Define _likes_."

"You know, Danny. _LIKES!_ Give me a break, man."

"Okay, talk, Stiles." Danny rolls his eyes. "That's two words that I never thought would come out of my mouth. I'll listen until I get bored." He gives Stiles a sharp look. "Just letting you know, I bore really easy."

"Thanks. Anyway, there's this guy..."

"Which guy? The guy you know or the other guy. Is the _other_ guy someone at school?" Danny interrupts.

"No! You're not paying attention, Danny. Nobody I'm talking about goes to Beacon Hills. Got it?"

"Okayyyy. But I thought you said someone went to Beacon Hills?"

"You seem confused, Danny. It's really simple. But just to clarify things, we'll call the guy _I_ know, Guy A, and the guy _he's_ interested in Guy B. Guy A is not at Beacon Hills. Guy B is not at Beacon Hills. No one goes to Beacon Hills." Stiles sighs loudly. "The only person you know in this story is me. But I'm not either of these people. Got it?"

Danny gives him a skeptical look. "Hmmmm. I know a lot of people, Stiles. So, it's not Scott then?"

"No! Why would you ever say Scott?" The disbelief in his voice convinces Danny that whoever Guy B is, it is not Scott McCall.

"Because, Stiles, in my experience hypothetical conversations that begin 'there's a guy I know,' are always, really, about the person telling the story. That means _you_ are Guy A, Stilinski." Danny releases the swing's chain and points a finger at Stiles. Even in the rapidly fading light on the playground, Danny can see the abashed expression on Stiles's face. Danny wonders how someone so smart about so many things can be so dumb about this. "And Scott, being the studly, straight arrow that he is, is the logical person for you to have the hots for and a meltdown over at the same time."

Stiles starts to release his hold on the chains to lift his hands in surrender but has to grab them back as he feels himself start to fall backward off the swing. "Okay, so I'm Guy A. Are you happy? That's not the important part. The important thing is that there is a who that I _like_ – and that who is a _guy._ "

Taking Danny's silence as permission to continue Stiles goes on. "A guy who makes me think that my obvious and heretofore rock solid heterosexuality..." Stiles ignores the snort that comes out of the dark. "...and my preference for the ladies may not be as unshakeable as I had assumed."

"How did you know?"

"What?"

"About your 'obvious, rock solid heterosexuality..." Danny makes air quotes with his hands, "and how unshakeable your sexual preferences are? I think there's room to question the first statement and your preferences are about as unshakeable as the tambourine you adopted as your instrument of choice in rhythm class back in fourth grade. Only you, Stiles, could fail to shake it in unison with the rest of the class."

"That was in elementary school, Danny," Stiles replies stiffly. "And the complexity of the tambourine as a musical instrument is greatly under appreciated."

"Stiles, leaving all that aside and getting back to what I think your question is: have you, in fact, _done_ anything with this guy?"

"No!"

"Okay. So why are we having this conversation if you haven't done anything? It sounds like all you're doing is a little window shopping, Stiles. Checking out the competition. With a touch of gay panic thrown in. So maybe you sneak a glance at a guy in the shower or happen to notice the size of his penis when you're standing beside him at the urinal. A guy can notice how hot another man is without wanting to jump into bed with him. It doesn't mean you're gay. Not if nothing has happened between the two of you. Relax, don't panic. Unless, of course, he knows he has this effect on you. Does he?"

"Ummmm."

"Very articulate Stiles. Does he or doesn't he?"

"Maybe," Stiles says slowly. "He implied that he knew but didn't come right out and say it."

Danny can see that Stiles has thought of something else. "What? Is there more?"

"Well, he has been in my bedroom a couple of times and there has been some serious encroachment on personal space and heavy sniffing." Stiles preempts the inevitable question. "Don't ask! It's too complicated to explain." His chin rests on his chest. He chews on his lip before continuing. "And perhaps there may have been some arousal on my part when he's around." He gives a deep sigh and finishes with a rush. "And an erotic dream, or two, in which Guy B featured prominently."

"Okay. Any daytime fantasies, Stiles?" Danny hears a sharp intake of breath and goes on patiently. "So what kind of signals do you get from Guy B?"

"Signals?"

"Your gaydar. Does he give off any vibes that, maybe, he might be interested in you? Lusting after a straight friend is an invitation to heartbreak and the loss of a friend. Do you have so many friends you can afford to lose one by making a mistake?"

"Trust me. If I misjudge things, losing a friend is the least of my worries." Stiles hand goes to his throat. "How am I supposed to know if he's interested that way in me when I don't even know if he considers me a friend or just an unavoidable nuisance. But, there has been stuff. Like I said, he doesn't respect my personal space. Also, there's been some grabbing and hitting and slamming me into things."

Danny's face darkens. "That sounds more like abuse than it does foreplay, Stiles. You need to stay away from this guy if that's how he treats you. He could be dangerous." His eyes narrow in suspicion as he studies the boy next to him. "How _old_ is this guy who doesn't go to Beacon Hills?"

"He's older." Stiles offers vaguely. "But you've got it wrong. He's never hurt me. Not really. A bruise here or there is all. He's very strong and his people were very physical and sometimes, with me, he forgets to pull his punches. Other times, I annoy him past the point of distraction and he needs to rein me in."

Danny's voice is hard. "It's never the fault of the person getting hit, Stiles. How much older is this dude?"

"Twenty-four or so, I guess."

"Are you talking about that so-called cousin of yours, Diego, that I met in your room?" The one with the delicious abs?" Danny sighs. "He's hot alright. But he's too old for you even if he _is_ interested, Stiles. You need to just step away. There's no 'Romeo and Juliet Law' in California. Believe me, I've checked. You have sex with an adult, that's statutory rape, and the adult goes to jail. It wouldn't matter even if you came on to him. You must know that. You're the sheriff's son!"

"Dad wouldn't do that!"

"Your dad's cool, Stiles. I'm sure he can get over the idea that you're gay. It might not even be such a big surprise." Danny smiles at the look of astonishment he sees on his friend's face. "But he'd bust the ass of anyone that old who took advantage of you. What are you thinking?"

"Like I told you, nothing's happened." Stiles protests. "I don't see what you're getting so uptight about? And his name is Derek, not Diego. I called him that just to irritate him."

"Stiles, I've run into guys at the club. Creepy, older men who are on the hunt for much younger guys. They're gay guys looking for their 'Lolita'."

"I know. I know about 'chicken hawks.' Give me a break already. Everything's on the internet these days, Danny. That's not what he is."

"Maybe not." Danny says giving him a steady stare. "But, you know what I think, Stiles? You don't really want my advice. You already know what you want to do and are looking for an excuse to go ahead. You just want someone to give you permission. It's not going to be me."

"It sounds like you're so hot to get your rocks off that you aren't paying any attention to the possible fallout from you hooking up with Derek Hale. Yeah, I've known who 'Diego' really was for a while." Stiles can see Danny's breath as he breathes out loudly.

"Stiles, I thought you were the guy who analyzed everything to a fare-the-well and compiled endless lists of pros and cons before making a decision. How can this be less important than which game console to buy?"

"My advice to you, even though you don't want to hear it and probably won't take it, is: if you like this guy, wait 'til you're legal. In the meantime find someone your own age to experiment with."

Danny can see that Stiles is shaking his head no.

Danny stops his swing and stands up. "Well, it was interesting but I'm just going to go shoot hoops now before the lights go out." Danny glances down at his watch and shrugs. "Well, a few hoops at least." He reaches down and grabs the basketball off the ground.

"Hey, wait up man." Stiles hops out of his swing. "I said I'd help you with your problem if you listened to mine. Offer still stands. Come on. If I can help you with your Jackson problem, I will."

Stiles thinks to himself, as Danny considers his offer, that his advice to Danny is likely to be a lot like the advice Danny has just given him: stay the hell away from the person causing his distress. Danny sinks back onto the swing's seat.

"Well?" Stiles sits down and pushes himself off.

"Remember, Jackson never hears about this." Danny glares at Stiles. Seeing the boy's nod he continues. "Jackson has been acting oddly since the start of the semester. He has these violent mood swings. One minute he's the Jackson I've known my entire life and the next he's someone else. You can see the change in his eyes. It's like there's a stranger looking out of his eyes."

"Stranger?"

"I know it sounds crazy but his eyes go all cold and lizard like." Danny shivers.

"And how exactly is this different from his normal personality?"

Danny's frown wipes the smirk off the other boy's face. Stiles shrugs. "Okay. No more Jackson cracks. What else?"

"He disappears for no apparent reason and has no explanation. Not even a dumb one. It's like he doesn't remember where he's been or what he's done. He's different on the field too. You have to have noticed. He has always played an aggressive game but now he seems to actually want to hurt people."

"Maybe it's steroids." Stiles offers. "When he thought Scott was using them he tried to buy some for himself. Maybe he finally found a dealer."

"Yeah, that occurred to me. But what do I do if that is the case? Go to the coach? I don't have any proof, only a feeling. He's not going to bench one of his co-captains on the basis of a hunch. Hell, coach might not bench him even if I had proof. We're winning. Same thing's true with his folks. And if I snitched on him to the police I could ruin his life. I want to help Jackson. I just don't know what I should do. And Lydia is no help."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He's supposed to be her boyfriend. You think she'd be more concerned about him; but she's changed too. I can't explain it. She's gotten distant. Not with me but toward Jackson. I'd talk to her about this but I can't figure out where her head is at now. You know how some animals will turn on the sick and injured members of their group? It almost seems like Lydia is prepared to do that to Jackson. Do you think it's weird that I'd think something like that?"

Danny looks miserable and Stiles wishes there was something he could tell him that would help. Knowledge may be power. But in this case, knowing that his best friend has been turned into a mindless, reptilian assassin would not make Danny a happier person. It might instead cause him to do something stupid and potentially lethal in his effort to help his friend.

"Maybe you should just back off, Danny. Let him work through whatever problem he's got. Just be there for Jackson if he asks for help." Stiles rolls his eyes. "I know that sounds like one of those stupid, daytime talk shows. But you said it yourself: his temper has gotten worse." His face very serious, Stiles finishes with a warning. "If you confronted him about this he could be dangerous - even to you."

Danny scoffs. "You're telling me that if something was wrong with Scott you'd back off? Just leave it? Like hell, you would! You'd tie him to his bed and sit on him if that's what it took to keep him safe and to keep him from hurting anyone."

Stiles stares at Danny. He realizes that the boy sitting next to him is just as committed to his best friend as he is to Scott. Jackson had been a cold duck even before Derek's bite jump-started his old reptilian brain. That he can engender this kind of devotion from anyone amazes Stiles.

Looking up, Stiles finds that Danny is staring at him hopefully. He sighs. The good news, that he can not share with Danny, is that he is probably safe. Unless Jackson's master has a grudge against Danny, which seems unlikely, the kanima has demonstrated some ability to control his actions. He did not kill Stiles in the garage when he had the chance, which is good; but he did go after Derek at the pool, which is bad. Both of those decisions were probably made by Jackson Whitemore not by the person controlling him.

Danny's hopeful expression slowly fades as Stiles remains uncharacteristically silent. "That's all you've got, huh? Okay. It was good to talk to someone about it. With Lydia off in Cloud Lydia Land I haven't had anyone else to talk to about it." He climbs out of the swing and turns not toward the basketball court but for the playground's gate.

"No hoops tonight?" Stiles asks.

"Nah." Danny turns back to answer Stiles. "I've still got homework and I'm working on this project.." His face lights up with enthusiasm. "I'm doing research on ley lines."

"Okay. That's different."

"Yeah! You know what they are?" Stiles nods. "Great, I'll show it to you when it's finished." Danny looks up at the hills and his expression becomes thoughtful. "You know, we live in a very strange town?"

"Tell me about it."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Stiles."

Stilinski gives Danny a wave and then slumps down into the swing. The evening has been enlightening. Danny has given him a perspective on his situation he had not considered. He needs to decide if he should go with his hormones and trust the 'big bad wolf' or take Danny's advice and stay the hell away from him. Because, he realizes, there are very few stalwart woodsmen in Beacon Hills to rescue him if he makes the wrong decision. God, it would be so much easier if he wasn't a horny teenager.

He glances down at his watch. There are a few minutes left before the automatic timer turns out the playground's lights. Stiles will be able to make it to his jeep before the lights go out if he starts now. He stands and walks purposefully, but not rapidly, toward the parking lot. He has recalled that Jackson lives just up the hill in the same neighborhood as Danny. As he opens the jeep's door and settles into the driver's seat the lights go out. The schoolyard is plunged into darkness. Stiles grimaces. He hates that he is afraid of the dark now.

As he backs out of his parking space he shakes his head. How ironic is it that Danny and he should each give the other the same advice. The double irony is, of course, that neither of them are likely to take the good advice offered to them.


End file.
